So there I was, minding my own business fast asleep when suddenly I wake up. This in itself is not unusual but tonight really was.
I woke up and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move my arms or sit up or move my head. No matter how much I tried I simply couldn’t move.
It was like my bones had turned to lead. I felt heavy. Heavy and also really warm. I tried to move, to sit up. I tried to turn my head to see what on earth was pinning me down. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried nothing happened. I could only move my eyes and make pathetic little squeaks.
When I could finally move I started crying. I was so terrified and shocked. When I had turned the light on and looked in the mirror I notices I had marks on my face. Big bluey splodges of colour scattered over my face. And there was a big egg-shapes red mark on my arm surrounded by what looked like a fading bruise.
I don’t know what happened. The only explanation I have is sleep paralysis. But now I’m tired and too scared to sleep.
I have enough trouble sleeping as it is; I find it incredibly hard to actually get to sleep and when I finally do I find that I’m riddled with nightmares and I constantly wake in the night.
Now I can add paralysis to my list of ‘reasons I really don’t want to go to bed’. 4 weeks ago
Maybe it’s that annoying British quality of taking responsibility for everything or perhaps my desire to avoid conflict that makes me apologise all the time. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been essentially brainwashed into thinking that I need to. Whatever the reason, I have a serious problem with apologising.
If I’m honest, my reasons for doing so are all of the above (and probably more) but mainly the latter.
Sometimes I do genuinely believe I have a reason to apologise and I think it through before I do so. But other times I just blurt it out. Those are the worrying times. I feel like an utter pillock when I say sorry and when asked ‘what for?’ I simply just don’t know. I’ve got to admit that it is almost concerning. The only thing stopping me from being like ‘woah now wtf is up with me?’ is that I already know the answer to that question.
It’s a habit. I said sorry so many times without really knowing why so much that it’s just become a habit. It normally happens when I’ve already apologised on purpose, or I’m feeling pretty shitty.
And I know that this might seem concerning but it’s not. If I meant it it would be, but most of the time that I blurt our random apologies I do not have a reason for doing so. Just that it is a habit for me to do so.
Habits are pretty hard to break, but this is one I want to stop. 1 month ago
You were one of the happiest creatures I ever met. You would always come and greet me when I came home, or when I left, you’d say hello and ask me how I was and you smiled when I gently stroked your head. You wouldn’t leave me alone when you were hungry and you were always so grateful when I fed you, no matter what it was. You were chatty and friendly and charming. Everyone thought you were charming. You were Tom Cat in real life, and we were your gang.
Nobody owned you. You owned all of us. We all did our best to make sure you were always safe, warm, well fed and loved. You united a close of people.
You were so brave. You endured scorching hot summers and icy cold winters. You dealt with torrential rain and hurricane force winds, often at the same time. Yet you were always so happy.
You will not be forgotten, not by any of us. With your loud cried for food and rough purrs when we showed your attention. With that signature ginger and white fur with the distinctive black patch. We will remember you for your bravery, your charm and cheek, your tenacity and your handsome face.
You were so loved and I think you knew that.
My last memory of you is one of you relaxing in a flower bed, leaning against the brick barrier and grooming in the sunlight. You seemed so relaxed and happy that it made me smile. I watched you for a while before carrying on my way. I was happy that you were happy. There is no other way I would want to remember your last day.
You were happy, loved and free. I cannot think of anything better. 1 month ago
Being strong isn’t about not crying or not being upset it’s about being upset and sad and crying but still getting through anyway.
It’s hard to believe that when you’re upset and sad and crying though.
I feel so low right now and I’m in such a dark place it’s difficult to see the positives without something tainting them. I’m trying though. That has to count for something about being strong. I really am trying to be positive and be okay.
Sometimes I have to accept that I need help. Someone to talk to, someone to tell me that everything will be okay. I think we all need that sometimes. I have to stop beating myself up about it. It is okay to tell someone that you need them and to ask for them to be there for you, especially if they are someone that love you. I know if someone I loved asked me to drop what they were doing and be there for them I would and I wouldn’t be angry so I shouldn’t expect it to be such a feat for them. It’s okay to ask. If I feel like I need to, I should. I can’t let myself get any deeper into my deep, dark hole of stupid gross emotions. 1 month ago
Let’s break this down.
As of now (16:25 on Sunday the 23rd February 2014) there are 39 days and 21 hours until the end of the next half term.
Six weeks. 40 days. Those six weeks consist of 30 working days and 10 weekend days.
That’s all I’ve got to do. Just focus on getting through those six weeks.
As Jamie said; Jamie Lent. 1 month ago
I have these peculiar fears that seem to be all I can think about today. Completely irrational thoughts that I just cannot seem to shake no matter how much I tell myself that they are idiotic and based on absolute bullshit I just cannot get rid of them.
Things are overwhelming and scary and I just want to be excited. 2 months ago
My budgie died yesterday and I’m not going to go into detail but it was pretty traumatic for me. For a few reasons it’s really hit me hard and affected me really badly. A few things added in with that and now I’m in a really bad place. I so often feel that I cannot be strong. I so often do not believe that I am a strong person. No matter who tells me that I’m strong I can’t believe it because I really don’t feel it. But at the crack of dawn this morning, after a night of no sleep and too many tears, Jamie told me what being strong really was. It’s not being unemotional and not being sad and not crying. It’s not hiding how you feel. Being strong is being sad and crying and feeling like absolute shit but still doing whatever it is you have to do anyway. Just as courage is not the absence of fear, simply the strength to overcome it. Strength and being strong seems to be about perseverance.
I thought I couldn’t be strong about being without Jamie. I didn’t know how I was going to do it. Well he’ll be here on Monday. In five short days I will have overcome that six week block I had no idea how to face. It’s kind of amazing. 2 months ago
The past few days I have felt more reflective than sad. I’ve been thinking about so much. How lonely I am and why and what I can do to stop it. I’ve been thinking of what would make me content and what would make me super happy. I’ve been thinking about the differences between what I need and what I want. I’ve been thinking about what typical teenage experiences I’ve missed and wondering if I should regret them.
My brain has been too active of late. My future has been on my thoughts almost constantly and I don’t think that’s a good thing because I’m too confused about it all at the minute. I need to sort my priorities out and then think about my future in steps, not all at once.
My brain is too full. I need a pensieve. 2 months ago
Let’s get this one very clear fact straight I do not hate my body. We have days where we don’t get along so great but, in the end, I don’t hate my body. After all it’s the thing that keeps me alive so why should I hate it? My skin is not flawless and a perfect pale white but instead covered in spots and freckles and scars and stretch marks and all sorts of things that tell me that I am alive; it keeps the bad things out and the good things in and how could I possibly hate that? My face is not that of a magazine model, nor is it that of a Disney Princess. It is my face; my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my cheeks and eyebrows and forehead and they are all vital and useful and wonderful. I am not perfectly short with impossibly long legs. I am stumpy and short as are my arms, legs, fingers and feet but they all do the job wonderfully (apart from when I’m trying to reach something on the top shelf). I do not have the sleek, slim, sexy body that is the object of so many aspirations. Nor do I have the strong, toned body of an athlete.
Which brings me onto my most critiqued part: my body. My curves are too curvy or not curvy enough. My hips are too big or my butt is. I am fat and shapeless or rather, too shapely. My body became a common topic of conversation while at college. People felt they could comment on my hips and thighs, expressing how grateful they were that theirs weren’t as large. My boobs often attracted attention too but nothing was more talked about than my butt. People spoke of my body like it was their property, something they felt entitled to comment on. Kira is too fat. Kira has a massive arse. Kira’s tits break buttons. Kira’s hips are too big. Kira should lose weight. Kira should do this and that and this and oh that thing too.
But let’s get this straight:
This is my body and it will follow my rules.
I will not let you push your insecurities about your body on to me. Your worries about being fat or having a big butt or hips that are too big are not my worries. Do not tell me that I am “hiding behind my body” when in all actuality that is the last thing I am doing. Do not tell me what I_ think about _my body. This is between me and it and you have nothing to do with it. Do not come up with faux concern about my health when really all you are doing is poorly disguising the fact that you resent that I have more confidence than you. You are not me. You are not my doctor. You are not, in fact, a doctor at all. You are in absolutely no place to comment on my heath.
I do not want your advice.
I do not care for what you have to say about my body and my feelings towards it.
I do not care what you think.
This is my body.
And it will follow my rules.
I am short and fat and wonky. And that’s a good thing. 2 months ago
Today I payed attention to things people normally would’t notice. I saw a swan landing in the water. A colourful bunch of llamas in the corner of a field. A tiny bird diving under the water to catch it’s food. Birds huddling in trees. A black cat sat in the middle of a bright green field by the side of a road, watching the traffic. People sat in their cars wearing gloves, dancing to music or frowning in frustration at the traffic. It was wonderful. 2 months ago